


Oblivious

by NimWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, One Shot, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Short & Sweet, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimWallace/pseuds/NimWallace
Summary: Aziraphale does not understand flirting and Crowley is a jealous wreck.





	Oblivious

Aziraphale wasn't really. . .well, how does one put this? Aziraphale was oblivious.   
Yes, oblivious was definitely the right word. The angel was incredibly clever in many respects, and completely daft to others. His interests were narrow and confined, strictly speaking, to things mostly out of date and therefore quite useless in modern times.   
He wasn't entirely socially inept, he understood many Human customs: manners, conversation, spiritualism. . .   
There was one thing he did not understand, though: flirting.   
Flirting is arguably one of the most complicated Human rituals, nearly as touchy as meeting with ones in laws or interviewing for a job of which you are certainly not qualified.   
This, in combination with Aziraphale's natural innocence, led him to many. . .situations, he would not have been in, had he understood the meaning of flirtation.   
However, it seemed no matter how many awkward spots he got into, he inevitably did not understand when one was stringing him along for romance.   
It happened to be a Sunday, in his shop, that there was yet another instance which Aziraphale was oblivious to.  
There just happened to be a certain demon there to view it this time.   
  
  
Crowley was lounging on the settee that Aziraphale had bought in the Georgian Era, (all red velvet and golden lace) and Aziraphale was beside him, reading one of Forster's works.   
He had a certain affinity for Forster, and thought he had been quite the fellow before he died. He found it a crying shame that they had never met.   
The bell rang, and in stepped a young man of maybe thirty years of age. He looked to be the type of man that, as a child, was always picked last for soccer but always won first in the spelling bee. He wore a pair of spectacles and had a sort of warm, messy appearance about him. He wasn't unattractive, in fact, he had rather a pleasant face and nice eyes. He wore a brown cardigan that Aziraphale found was in good taste.   
“Hello,” he said, instantly putting his book down and standing politely. “What can I help you with? Something you're looking for?”   
“No, actually, just came to have a poke around,” the man said. “I've been walking by the shop, on my way to work, and I see you reading in here a lot. Thought I ought to finally come in. I'm Will, by the way.”   
Crowley's eyes narrowed.   
Aziraphale, however, sensed nothing out of the ordinary and remained cheerful.   
“Lovely to meet you, I'm, erm, Mr Fell, of course. Do tell me if you need anything.”   
He resumed his place on the settee, where Crowley possessively plopped his legs across his knees. Aziraphale, again oblivious, found it endearing gave his leg a pat before returning to his book.  
The man, Will, poked about a bit, still not _really_ looking at books, but occasionally shooting a glance at Aziraphale. Crowley glowered at him.   
“How long have you run this place?” Will asked.   
“Oh, erm, a long time,” Aziraphale said, hesitant with even the small lie.   
“Yeah? Live in London long?”   
“Pretty much always. Yourself?”   
“Hmm, yeah. Lived on the East End for a while.”   
The man was no longer making any attempt to pretend to browse, and Aziraphale was making no attempt to finish his chapter.   
“So you got family around here, then? A girlfriend?”   
Crowley was noticeably red now, but Aziraphale paid it no mind. Instead, he chuckled.   
“No, nothing of that sort,” he said pleasantly. The man smiled. Then he looked Aziraphale up and down. Not even subtly. Just gave him a full body scan.   
That was the last straw for Crowley.   
“ _ANGEL_ will you come here a moment please.”   
“What is it Crowley? Don't be rude,” Aziraphale muttered, while going over nonetheless. Crowley stood up and pulled him in, then, promptly, kissed him. Properly, on the mouth.   
Aziraphale pulled away after a moment.   
“That's sweet, darling, but not in front of customers,” he said.   
Will could only be described as tomato red with embarrassment and, probably, a healthy bit of fear, as Crowley made a point of opening his eyes just to stare him down.   
He slunk out the door rather quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, and nearly knocking over a tower of Tolstoy books on the way.   
Aziraphale looked befuddled.   
“What was that all about?” he said, eyebrows furrowed.   
“Probably just some weirdo. You know how they are on the East End.”   
Aziraphale suddenly got the impression that he had missed something, as Crowley was looking rather flustered.   
“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. “Why don't you come back to the settee? I was enjoying your company.”   
Crowley, quite satisfied, obliged.   
Aziraphale did not have a problem with flirting after that.

 


End file.
